


the die is cast (behind us, rubicon)

by LizMikaelson, RadicalSaltz



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, hizzieshipmonth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 14:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadicalSaltz/pseuds/RadicalSaltz
Summary: hope is saved from malivore by her friends and her family, who discovered evidence of her existence. all of them remember her, she remembers none of them.





	the die is cast (behind us, rubicon)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the very wonderful, incredible alex for editing this on terribly short notice.

It starts with Penelope Park. 

Like so much of the trouble and chaos and heartbreak in their lives, it starts with Penelope Park. And with the parting gifts she so graciously left in her wake. 

She bestowed upon Josie to things - the knowledge that they’re destined to be each other’s destruction and a red leather-bound journal. 

Lizzie thinks about hiding it, burning it, destroying it. 

As if erasing the evidence of their fate from existence could change their destiny. 

Josie clings to it. 

Spends every night reading through the pages, carefully tracing the words with her fingers, the secrets of the school in her hands. 

Lizzie ignores it. 

Until one night when Josie turns around, clears her throat and finally meets her eyes. “Have you ever heard of Hope Mikaleson?”

She walks to the other side of the room, reads a name that she has never seen before but its a name that is eerily familiar all the same. 

That is how it starts. 

In the aftermath of battles, of monsters and of their newly acquired knowledge, a shared mystery seems like everything they have ever needed. 

Lizzie doesn’t care much about a name she doesn’t know, but she cares about her sister. 

And if Josie wants to spend her time reading about the mysterious and villainous Mikaelson family, then so be it. It was their funeral after all. 

She’s a little less joyful about the idea of road tripping to New Orleans, apparently the home base of the Mikaelson family. 

“Check out the bar,” Pedro advises her, perched atop the kitchen counter, “it’s where all supernatural creatures meet.”

“You’re too young to know that,” she says and he rolls his eyes. 

“It’s not like I can go there. You know things, when you grow up in New Orleans.” He sounds wise beyond his years and utterly ridiculous and she smiles down at him, even as his voice turns serious. “Be careful, Lizzie. New Orleans is not like other cities. And the Mikaelsons are dangerous to cross.”

They don’t ask for permission. 

They could, maybe. 

They’ve done their research, assembled the evidence, and a trip to New Orleans seems unavoidable. 

But after all the lies, all the years of deception, Lizzie watches her sister shrug, sigh, mutter, “who cares what he thinks?”

It’s surprisingly easy. Josie grabs the keys to the jeep while their dad is distracted and between the two of them, convincing M.G. to drive takes a little less than five minutes. 

They walk out in the early hours of the evening. They won’t be missed until tomorrow.

Josie is clutching the diary to her chest, still unwilling to let go. 

“We don’t need to bring that,” Lizzie bites out. 

“Yes we do,” Josie snaps back.

“Ladies, ladies, please stop fighting, or a guy might think you’re fighting about me, “ comes Kaleb’s voice from behind them, a large smile on his face.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Lizzie questions. 

“My boy right here is not going on your crazy-ass trip without some backup.”

“Fine, I don’t care anymore,” Lizzie dramatically says while turning around and walking to the car. “Just freaking drive.”

The drive takes all night. She falls into restless dreams somewhere in between, sees images and flashes of things she can’t place, things that are better left hidden in the far reaches of her mind.

By the time they’ve reached New Orleans, the sun is rising and she takes in the city in the soft reddish light of dawn. It’s crowded, and loud, and she finds a strange sense of comfort in the chaos. 

The bar is almost empty by the time they find it and walk inside, the midday sun looming above them. 

“This place screams creepy,” M.G. mutters, glancing around. 

Lizzie ignores him, and walks straight inside. 

“Stop,” Josie says, “let’s watch it for a bit first.”

She rolls her eyes. “And what, wait for information to just come to us?”

Josie shakes her head. “Better than rushing off into danger.”

“I’m sorry, but sitting around and being heartbroken isn’t my speciality,” Lizzie says, and regrets the words as soon as they’ve left her mouth, but Josie doesn’t flinch. 

“At least I don’t scare everybody off. You always come on too strong and you know what happens? You keep chasing them all away. Not even Hope stuck around.”

She presses her lips together into a thin line, bypasses her sister and marches inside. Ignores the pain that stabs through her chest at the words, ignores the name she still can’t place, ignores Hope. 

Behind her, the others follow. 

She walks straight to the bar, grasping the last threads of her composure, demands, “I need to speak to the Mikaelsons.”

The man behind the bar tilts his head a little, sends her a roguish smile. “And who is asking, little lady?”

“Lizzie Saltzman,” she declares and watches his expression change. 

“Blondie’s daughter. The siphoner twins.” His voice is even, simply stating a fact. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson,” he says. “So, what do you need from us, love?”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

“You have your mother’s spunk,” he mutters, leans a little closer, holds out his hands to her face. “Let me show you?”

She nods, but before he can touch her, Josie is behind them, one hand on Kaleb’s shoulder, the other outstretched. “Don’t touch her,” she snarls. 

The man who may or may not be Kol Mikaleson lowers his hands, a roguish smirk crossing his face. “This must be the sister.”

Josie glares at him. “Who are you?”

He observes them for several seconds before lowering his hands. “Kol Mikaelson. And the two of you should probably come with me.”

“Why should we come with somebody who claims he’s a Mikaelson?” Josie says, the sassiness lingering in her voice. “For all we know you could be lying. Your family’s not exactly known for their morality.”

“Didn’t they teach you about us in that poor excuse for a school that your father has run into the ground? The only reason I’m not murdering your right now is the simple fact that Klaus would never let us hurt anyone related to your mother.”

Lizzie meets Josie’s eyes, silently pleading with her for patience. They have no reason to trust this stranger, but with no other options, he was their only hope. And they did come here for a reason, after all. 

A little risk might be necessary. 

“Alright,” Lizzie says, speaking for both of them, “we’ll come with you.”

“Your friends will have to wait here,” he says, “vampires can not enter my home so easily.”

The Mikaelson mansion is everything she expected. 

Gloomy and heavy, high halls and arches arranged around an atrium. 

“Dav,” the man who may or may not to be Kol Mikaelson calls out, as soon as they step inside. 

“Who the hell is Dav?” Lizzie whispers to Josie. 

“Davina Claire is one of the most powerful witches you will ever meet. Maybe you will learn something from her, Salty twins, “ Kol states with a smirk. Lizzie looks at him the surprise evident on her face. 

“Vampire hearing, love. Nothing gets past us.”

The woman who enters the atrium certainly has power rolling off her in waves. Lizzie can feel it, its wrapped around her like armor. 

“What’s going on?” she asks. 

“My love, meet the Saltzman twins. They are apparently looking for us, although they have yet to tell me the nature of their visit.”

“Caroline’s daughters?” Davina asks and Josie nods. “Yes,” she says, sounding far more calm and confident than Lizzie is used to.

Her sister is different, these days. 

It’s Josie who finally explains why they are in New Orleans, once they’ve settled around the table. 

“We found mentions of a girl, a girl named Hope Mikaelson, in a diary.”

She watches their faces for any trace of recognition, of memory. Doesn’t expect it. 

But they surprise her. 

A smile crosses Kol’s face and for a moment, he looks like a different man entirely. 

Davina, meanwhile, blanches, clears her throat. “I found a picture,” she says, “in the attic,” and three faces turn towards her. 

“You never told me that,” Kol says quietly, his voice unwavering. 

She sighs, reaching inside the pocket of her jacket. “I didn’t know what to make of it. And I didn’t want to worry you.”

The photograph shows who Lizzie assumes to be Klaus Mikaelson next to a girl who looks roughly fifteen years. On the left side of the girl stands another woman she doesn’t recognize. They look like a happy family.

“It’s Klaus with Hayley, but I didn’t recognize the little girl,” Davina says, “Do you think it might be Hope?”

She doesn’t let go of the picture. 

Traces the features of the unfamiliar girl with her eyes, again and again. 

Next to her, Davina and Kol are debating memory spells with Josie. 

Lizzie looks at auburn hair and glittering blue eyes, filled with mirth and joy and life, and feels a little breathless. 

Her world is suddenly achingly more incomplete and a little more whole. 

“Malivore,” Josie says, “all of last year, we were fighting Triad and Malivore, and then suddenly, we won.”

And as her sister explains their battles, Lizzie looks at the family in the picture. 

“I have heard rumours,” Kol says, “that Malivore erases beings from existence.”

“What do you mean?” Lizzie asks, looking up rather suddenly. 

Davina nods, raises her hand and a book comes flying down the stairs. A grimoire, old and ancient, its bindings threatening to break. 

Davina flips through the pages and Lizzie can feel her anticipation rising, sees it mirrored in the way Josie’s fingers tap against the table, in the way Kol keeps shifting. 

This is important. 

They’re on the right track. 

“Malivore,” Davina explains, “was created by a witch, a vampire and werewolf. It could only be controlled by all of them together, by their joint blood. Any creature that entered it would be erased from existence, from memories, from time.”

For a few moments, no one speaks, the silence hanging around the group like a shroud. 

“And we think Hope could be in there? In Malivore?” Josie voices, into the silence, gives words to the thought that has no doubt been dancing through their minds. 

No one answers her. 

“If she is, then we need to get her out of there,” Kol says. “No Mikaelson deserves to be stuck in some kind of hell dimension.”

Davina continues flipping through the pages. “I can’t find much,” she says, “No hints on how to get her out of there. Just that it’s a hell dimension.”

“There have been rumours about objects that can open portals to dimensions. I remember hearing about something like that centuries ago,” Kol tosses in, “Luckily, you came to the right address. I happen to be the one who actually found one of those round thingies.”

And somehow, somewhere, two hours later, Lizzie finds herself scouring New Orleans with Kol Mikaelson and Kaleb. 

Josie is still at the mansion, leafing through family grimories with M.G. and Davina. 

But Lizzie would rather be here. 

She would rather lose herself in the bright, busy bustle of the streets. But slowly, the busy streets get quieter. They’re leaving the bars and bakeries behind and not a moment later, they find themselves standing right in front of the Lafayette cemetery.

“Oh great, we’re visiting dead people,” Lizzie says while rolling her eyes.

“Uhm sir, Kol, or whatever your name is. Uh uh, I don’t fuck with dead people,” Kaleb says while refusing to go into the cemetery.

“You’re literally a walking dead person!” Lizzie looks at him like he’s crazy. Kol is leaning against one of the tombstones, amusedly watching the scene in front of him.

“Not what I meant, Saltzman. I just don’t fuck with ghosts and all that shit,” Kaleb says, “I’m not going in and that’s it.”

“Fine!” She throws her arms in the air and walks to Kol, “Come on, Mikaelson. I don’t have all day.”

Without saying another word, Kol leads her to a tombstone not that far from the entrance. 

“Welcome to my playhouse,” Kol says with a smile plastered on his face while he throws open the doors and walks in. With hesitation Lizzie follows him.

“Is this your not so super secret serial killer cave?” Lizzie says while she takes in the room. It’s filled with objects. It doesn’t take her long before she realizes it are all dark objects. Something deep inside of her wants to try out every single object, to pull and pull and take the magic out of it.

“Like I said, salty twin number one, we are not allowed to harm you and your sister,” He walks to a chest near one of the work benches. “I might be an original and hard to kill or scare, but your mother will find a way.”

“What are you even trying to look for?” Lizzie says while looking with him over his shoulder.

“This little thing over here,” He pulls a little die out of the chest. It is a shimmering, ethereal kind of blue with gold waved into it. There are numerous different numbers on it

“What are you going to do with that? Roll it and hope it opens a portal?” 

“That is exactly what we are gonna do!” Kol says with a big smile on his face. “Legend says that if you cast an opening spell on the die and call the name of the person you’re seeking, you may find them.” The only response he gets from Lizzie is an are you out of your mind look. “Let’s go back to Dav. She can put a protection spell on it and tomorrow we can do more research about this golden thingie.”

  


Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. 

She wakes up, once, twiced, plagued by the image of the girl with the sparkling blue eyes, smiling into the camera. 

Haunted by the image of her stuck in some kind of hell. 

And the emptiness, caused by a shadow she still can’t remember, feels utterly tangible. 

In the bed next to her, Josie shifts, and Lizzie turns, stands up, and quietly walks out of the room. 

The picture is still lying on the table in the atrium. 

Next to it, the dice. 

Mythical and magical, glittering even in the pale moonlight. 

Side after side, it seems almost unlimited. 

Around it, the protective spell Davina cast shimmers in the air. 

And Lizzie raises her hand. 

Davina’s power feels light in her body, like free-falling and climbing all at once, an intangible source, not quite tied down to Earth. 

Within seconds, Lizzie has dissolved the spell. 

She’s never cared too much for the rules, but as she holds the blue dice in her hand, she feels hesitation. 

She feels intensely powerful magic, portals between universes, wild, and not to be controlled. 

But she looks at the picture, traces the smile of the girl with her eyes. 

Hope Mikaelson. 

Lizzie thinks the world may have been a better place with her in it. 

And slowly, she kneels down next to the table, rolls the dice. 

“Abierto,” she whispers, Davina’s power flowing through her veins. 

And the dice keeps spinning. 

Turns and turns, rolling over the table, as if of their own accord. 

Lizzie watches blinding light emerge from the dice. Its white, brighter than the sun at noon. 

Part of her wants to avert her eyes from the intensity. 

And the larger, the bigger, the more important part of her, knows better. 

So she finds her voice. 

“Hope Mikaelson,” she demands. 

“Hope Mikaelson.”

She repeats and repeats Hope’s name, and the dice keep spinning, and the lights keeps turning, a kaleidoscope of images thrown across the walls. 

Behind her, there’s motion, and in the back of her mind, she registers Josie’s voice, asking her to stop. Kol holding her back, his voice dry. 

“It’s too late now. It’s all in motion.”

Davina pacing, M.G. nervously clicking his tongue. 

But Lizzie can only think about Hope. 

“Hope Mikaelson,” she demands, of the powers that be. 

Of the universe. 

And it’s a battle of wills, undoing what has been done, regaining a sacrifice made, turning fate back onto itself. 

Lizzie pulls and tugs and stands her ground and calls out for Hope, again and again. 

And slowly, the memories start seeping in. 

A little girl. 

A blinding smile. 

“Do you want to be friends?”

“No.”

A teenager, stubborn and stumbling. 

Lizzie’s world in flames. 

Burning bright and angry. 

A young woman, gorgeous and angry. 

“More like despair.”

“I heard that.”

A dress, blue and bright, and Hope collapsing into her arms, so sad, and so broken. 

Hope kneeling. 

Anchoring her. 

And Lizzie pulls and tugs and demands, demands from the universe. 

Screams for Hope, the girl, her friend, her anchor. 

And wins. 

As the portal collapses, she reaches and reaches and tugs, and Hope’s hands are in hers. 

They stumble and fall and end up on the ground, the magic ricocheting around them, pressing them down. 

Hope lands half on top of her and Lizzie meets her eyes, can’t help but smile. 

“Hi,” she mutters. 

“Hi,” Hope says, and she sounds entirely the same, and utterly different. 

Before Lizzie can say anything further, time begins again and the world rushes in on them. Kol and Davina are dragging Hope to her feet, pulling her into hugs and Josie is suddenly at Lizzie’s side. 

“What were you thinking, Lizzie?! You could have gotten yourself killed!” 

But as Josie’s worries and anger wash over her, all Lizzie can focus on is Hope. 

Something is wrong. 

There’s something off about the way she moves. 

About the way she takes in her surroundings. 

Something is very, very wrong. 

And before she can say a word, Hope’s voice confirms her suspicions. 

“Who are you? Where am I?”

And everything changes. 

There is a bustle of voices and a mess of discussions and Lizzie watches Hope shrink further into herself. 

There is Davina frantically summoning through the grimoire. 

“This is why we needed to do more research,” Josie bites out. 

And Lizzie feels bile rise in her throat, feels the horrible tangy pain of regret. 

M.G. is the one who explains to Hope what is happening, his voice quiet and calm. “Your name is Hope Mikaelson. We pulled you out of a hell dimension called Malivore. You jumped into there hoping you could close it. This is your uncle and his wife, and we’re your friends.” 

And for a moment, it looks almost like she’s breathing a little calmer, and M.G. reaches out to lay a comforting hand on her arm. 

And Hope shrinks away, moving further into herself. 

She looks different. 

The night seems to last forever. 

Lizzie observes from the corner, feeling sick and barely clinging on. 

“What do you remember?” Josie asks Hope.

“What do you need?” Kol asks her, frantic, returning to the group after fielding phone calls from his siblings. 

“What do you know?” Davina questions, “about magic, about this world?”

She remembers nothing but darkness, she doesn’t need anything, she knows everything about the world, except for the people in it. 

“It may be a twist on whatever happened to us,” Davina suggests, “everyone who didn’t remember her, remembered her again and she forgot everything.” 

And at the end of the night, straining under a barrage of questions, Hope runs. 

“Let me go,” Lizzie says, her voice quiet. 

“This is all your fault,” Josie bites out. There is no lie in her sister’s statement, but despite that, Lizzie feels the rage bubble up inside of her. 

“Let me remind you that you did worse things than I ever did!” Lizzie screams, causing Josie to shrink before turning around and running after Hope. 

  
  
  


She finds Hope in the basement. 

Dark ceilings, dusty staircases, and moldy walls don’t exactly make this her favorite location. 

But Hope is shivering on the floor, her knees pulled up, her arms wrapped around them. 

A safe distance away, Lizzie uses the last of Davina’s magic to conjure a blanket and sits down. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hi,” Hope repeats and as the minutes pass, they sit quietly, silent sobs shaking Hope’s body. 

Lizzie wants to reach out, wrap Hope up in her arms and apologise. 

But she has already broken enough rules tonight. 

And Hope deserves her space. 

And yet- 

“You might be more comfortable over here,” Lizzie finally says, breaks the silence between them. 

Hope looks up, careful, cautious eyes. 

Lizzie waits. 

She has patience when it comes to Hope. 

She’s spent ten years waiting for her. 

She has time, if that’s what Hope needs. 

And so she holds Hope’s gaze, keeps her breathing even and just waits. 

And finally, finally Hope moves. 

Lizzie shifts until they’re next to each other, the blue and white stripes of the blanket barely visible through the light falling down the stairs. 

There are only inches between them. 

And Lizzie feels her heartbeat quicken, just for a hint of a second, the way it always has, for Hope Mikaelson. 

But she focuses on staying calm. 

Hope needs her. 

And into the silence, Hope suddenly starts talking. “I don’t remember much,” she says. “There was nothing but darkness and demons and I knew that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. But I didn’t know how to leave.”

The walls around them suddenly seem far less stable, caught in the impact of Hope’s pain, of her memories. 

And Lizzie throws caution into the wind, reaches out, reaches out for Hope. 

Places a careful hand on her knee. 

Wraps an arm around her. 

Pulls her close. 

Hope doesn’t resist, lets Lizzie wrap her up in her arms. 

And as sobs wreck Hope’s body, Lizzie runs a hand through her hair and one over her back. Sheltering her. Protecting her.

And wishes she could take all of this pain away. 

“It’s okay,” she promises, holding onto Hope. 

She doesn’t let go. 

“You’re home now,” she whispers, and for a second, Hope believes her. 

They stay in the basement until the sun rises, and she never, ever lets go of Hope, not even as the brunette calms down slowly, her breath returning to normal. 

Instead, they remain like that. 

Hope curled up into her arms. 

And Lizzie hates the pain she caused and hates the relief she feels that Hope is back, that Hope is home. 

  


Her Dad is there when they finally go upstairs. 

For his favourite, no distance seems to be too far. 

And as he moves closer, another person moving in on her, Hope shifts, away, almost falling into Lizzie. 

Lizzie catches her, wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

“Not now, Dad,” she says, and her voice sounds firm. Almost a demand. 

Standing up to him has never been this easy. 

  


They return to school. 

A familiar environment, her dad suggests, somewhere she’s surrounded by things that should bring her comfort.

It’s probably not the worst idea. 

And Davina and Kol are on a mission anyway, intent on reversing what happened when Lizzie rolled the dice and changed everything. 

Kol squeezes her shoulder as they’re about to get in the car. “Don’t leave her alone,” he says, “just because you made a mistake. We’ve all been foolish, once.”

It’s hard, not leaving Hope alone. 

Everything about her reminds Lizzie of the pain she’s caused. 

The way Hope smiles coldly at Dorian. 

The way she ignores the wolves, who move away, respect and remembrance, when she passes the pack in the hallways. 

The way she shrinks away from all familiarity. 

The way she falls into herself. 

And the knowledge that Lizzie is the cause of her pain, the reason that Hope is lost in a world that should be hers. 

It’s harder, not leaving Hope alone. 

Because Lizzie _ missed _ her, even when she didn’t realize it.

Missed her gentle touches and her quiet words, her dry humour and her strength. 

The way she keeps the storms inside of Lizzie under control with just a glance. 

And so, she doesn’t avoid Hope. 

Landon tries talking to Hope, and he’s kind and gentle and careful, and for a half-dead bird, she thinks he’s probably doing a decent job. 

But Hope just shivers and shakes and forces out, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” and Lizzie finds her, and shows her the part of the campus where she can safely shift and run away from her demons. 

Lizzie watches the white wolf. She’s so breathtakingly beautiful, so regal. She watches Hope pace endless, paws scratching at the forest floor, frustrations and anger and despair in each huff and exhale. She thinks Hope needed this more than either of them knew. 

Hope asks her questions, her desire for knowledge nearly insatiable. 

Sometimes, Lizzie knows what to say, sometimes she doesn’t. 

Doesn’t know how to explain when they were friends, when they were not. 

But there are things she knows. 

Things she can do. 

She takes Hope to Mystic Falls, and they buy pencils and paintbrushes and sketch pads and canvases. 

And she lounges on Hope’s bed and watches Hope paint the darkness. 

She sleeps there, most nights. 

She and Josie are still slipping between fighting and talking and searching for a cure and Lizzie cherishes the silence she finds in Hope’s room. 

And besides, Hope is wrecked with nightmares and it’s the least Lizzie can do. 

And besides, Hope is plagued with nightmares every single night - nightmares that cause Lizzie to wake up to a Hope who is tangled in her bedsheets, forehead slick with sweat and chest heaving. 

It’s the least Lizzie can do to be there for her. 

Hope’s magic is a violent, raging storm when she reads about her family in the library, when she learns what her father sacrificed for her, when she discovers the stories and tales told about her. 

Lizzie reaches for her hands and drags her out into the woods. 

And in the silence, cocooned between old pines and skinny birches, she anchors Hope and lets her scream. 

“Why don’t you hate me?” Lizzie asks, once. 

Hope doesn’t pretend not to understand the question. 

That’s the same thing, about this Hope and the other one. 

They’re blunt. 

“I don’t know,” Hope finally replies. 

“Without me, you might remember everything. You might have gotten your life back.”

“Without you, I might still be stuck in Malivore.” The seconds pass and Hope meets her eyes. “I don’t know, Lizzie. I trust you. And I don’t know why.” 

Hope doesn’t remember her. 

Doesn’t remember ten years of dancing around each other in angry circles. 

Doesn’t remember their friendship, fast and intense. 

Doesn’t remember Lizzie. 

And yet - she brings her coffee sometimes. 

One sugar, one cream. 

And yet - she smiles at Lizzie sometimes, when they’re in town. Hope’s smile then is light and easy. 

She smiles at Lizzie like there’s a lifetime of memories between them. 

And somehow - she knows without needing to be told, when Lizzie’s world is shattering. 

She calms her with an easy hand and a gentle smile, like she knows just what to do. 

  


“It’s a curse,” Kol explains to them, his voice rusty through the speakers. “The dice was cursed and we just need to find a way to reverse it.”

“Did you find one?” Josie asks.

He sighs. “We’re still looking,” he says. 

Hope leaves as soon as the phone call is over. 

Lizzie finds her in her room, flipping through the album of family pictures Freya sent. 

“Are you okay?”

Hope shrugs, pauses her movements. “I have a family and boyfriend and this school and all I can remember is emptiness.”

Lizzie squeezes her hand, and they stand together, anchored onto each other. 

Penelope sends a letter. 

A thick white envelope, held together by the red seal of her family. 

Josie twists and turns it in her hands. 

Lizzie watches. 

“Just read it,” she says, at last. “Stop being a coward.”

And as Josie tears open the letter, Lizzie thinks about her own advice. 

There is so much to lose, in losing herself, again, to a girl who does not even know her. 

The first time she fell in love with Hope Mikaelson she was too young to even realize it. 

This time around, she has been acutely aware of every single second. 

And yet, it feels exactly the same.

  


She doesn’t know if this a good idea or the worst one she’s ever had. 

Monsters are crawling out of Malivore once more. 

They opened the portal, or perhaps it was never closed. 

It doesn’t truly matter anymore. 

Their life has turned into a battlefield. 

Hope fights again, at her Dad’s side. Hope Mikaelson is an unstoppable force, Lizzie thinks, whether she remembers them or not. Josie comes with them more often than not. She’s been practising offensive magic on her own and it shows. 

And really, Lizzie shouldn’t be surprised when she’s caught in the crossfire, when the monster of the week - some kind of giant - switches direction and attacks the school, void of its protector. 

She herds the students into a room, shields it and siphons from the vampires, striking blow after blow until the giant has collapsed to the ground. 

She took hits, quite a few and her ribs are bruised and there is a cut streaming blood down her forehead. 

Hope is storming into the room, her eyes ablaze with fury and fire and concern, most of all. She never stops moving, wrapping her arms around Lizzie and crushing her into a tight hug. 

And in the midst of that, Lizzie throws caution into the wind and kisses Hope.

Feels alive and on fire with the touch of Hope’s lips against hers, Hope’s hands gripping her hips and pulling her closer. 

When they break apart, Hope looks utterly dumbfounded, pale and a little shaky and Lizzie reaches for her arm, stabilizes her. 

“I shouldn’t have-,” she begins, but Hope smiles at her, warm, and unerringly soft and Lizzie is at a loss for words.

“True love’s kiss,” Davina suggests, over the phone, hours later, sounding both amused and a little exasperated. “Guess we’ve been running around the globe for no reason.” 

Hope laughs, next to her, familiarity in her voice as she answers. 

She has her family back. 

And under the table, Lizzie can feel her reach out, fingers searching, until their hands are tangled together. Grounding each other. She has found her anchor again. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come say hi at @radicalsaltz or @liz_mikaelson on twitter, if you feel like it. comments, kudos or virtual cookies are very appreciated.


End file.
